


Room for Negotiation

by JacquelineHyde



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 12:08:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1265968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JacquelineHyde/pseuds/JacquelineHyde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brandon Stark is not well accustomed to hearing no from a girl, so when his own lovely betrothed informed calmly, sweetly, but utterly immovably that she intended to remain a maiden until their wedding night, he set to work reimagining the conversation to make her refusal his own idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Room for Negotiation

**Author's Note:**

> For the ASOIAF kink meme prompt, _Brandon likes to deflower virgins and seduce highborn girls, however he also likes the idea of taking Cat's virginity on their wedding night. He can't keep his hands entirely off her though, but that's why the gods invented oral sex._

Brandon Stark is not well accustomed to hearing  _no_  from a girl.  
  
Whether the daughter of a lord of the daughter of a stable hand, it is almost always absurdly easy to get them out of their dresses and spread beneath him.  
  
And so when his own lovely betrothed informed calmly, sweetly, but utterly immovably that she intended to remain a maiden until their wedding night, he set to work reimagining the conversation to make her refusal his own idea.  
  
Bedding a maid is one of the finest things there is, and the girl he will wed is quite lovely. The more he considers it, the more he likes the idea of having her for the first time the night of their wedding. Lady Catelyn will be particularly lovely that night, careful to look her best for him, flushed with happiness and eager to spend her first night as his wife learning to please him.  
  
And perhaps it is just as well not to take the risk that it be somehow discovered that she did not come to their marriage bed a maiden. Most would immediately assume him responsible, but the notion of anyone attributing it to her father's ward –  _former_  ward, who thought to win her from him with a sword that he could barely swing – is so galling that it decides the matter easily for him.  
  
It matters not how the curve of her hip draws his eye, how the low, snug bodices of her pretty gowns seem to beg him to gather the ties in his hand and give a sharp tug. It does not even matter how strong the urge is to strip down and join her in the river when he comes upon her swimming early in the morning in naught but a shift plastered to her body by the weight of the water soaking it. She is a maiden, and will remain that way until he weds her.  
  
It is not such a hardship, waiting; she is not the only pretty girl in the world, nor even in the nearby vicinity when he visits her. He seems to find willing women enough wherever he goes, most of them without uncles like Brynden Tully to hang about eyeing him with a hint of suspicion and the promise of his cock floating bloodied down the nearest river if any harm should come to the man's darling niece.   
  
He thinks the old man might try to remember that Lady Catelyn is as good as his already to have as he pleases, and if he had not found favour with the idea of leaving her maidenhood in tact until their wedding night, he might have told him so.  
  
But there is a good deal of room for negotiation between bedding a girl and keeping an arm's length away from her at all times, and he certainly does not intend the latter.  
  
Of course he has kissed her before, chaste kisses that she would grant with a wry twist to her mouth that suggests his pretense at solemn reverence charms her little and fools her even less.  
  
(It is a mark in her favour that he cannot fool so her easily, for he has little use for stupid girls – Barbrey, clever Barbrey, and his fierce love for his own willful, brilliant little sister are evidence enough of that.)  
  
He has kissed her less innocently too, felt the shiver that runs through her when he flicks at her lip with his tongue, felt her gasp sharply into his mouth as his hand finds and cups her breast.  
  
Always before, she has stopped him when he goes far enough to leave her in doubt that he intends to honour her wish (the necessity, she tells him, annoyed that he does not see it) to wait until they are wed.   
  
But today, when he kisses her to cut off her constant barrage of questions about the dullest possible parts of Winterfell and the north, then kisses her again and again, and then eases her down onto the sun-warmed grasses beside the river, she only pulls him closer, threads her hands into his hair and opens her mouth to him eagerly.   
  
He could persuade her, he thinks, could push up her skirts and touch between her legs until her stubborn insistence melted easily away, until she begged him not to stop, to take her now. But he has come to know her well enough to know that she would find ways to make him regret so disregarding her wishes.  
  
And if he is entirely honest, he does not wish to see hurt or disappointment on her face directed towards him, does not wish to see her pretty face marred by guilt, would rather have only smiles and sparkling eyes from her during his visits, for he suspects that they will have plenty of time in years to come to be angry with one another.  
  
But the heat of her body reaches him easily through their clothes, and her lips part under his in breathy little gasps, and all he want at this moment is to see her lying bare in the grass, blushing shyly and unable to meet his eyes, the fine gown that she wore for him crumpled into a pile next to her.  
  
( Seeing would make a fine start, at least.)  
  
Happily, there is still plenty of room for negotiation between bedding a girl and enjoying her. He dare not undress her as he would like – past near misses have shown him the inadvisability of stripping naked with the daughter of the lord of the castle where anyone might stumble upon them, and he fears that if he suggests they go elsewhere, she will remember herself and push him away entirely. So he contents himself with tugging at the laces of her bodice until he can push the fabric down over her breasts, contents himself with the soft moans that she must muffle by biting her lips when he draws one nipple into his mouth as the other hardens in his palm.  
  
He reaches down between them to gather and push up her skirts, and she freezes, before her hands land at his shoulders to push him away.  
  
“My lord, I can't--”  
  
“Do not fret, sweet Cat. Your lord husband will find you still a maiden.” He grins, and nuzzles her neck gently. “I would take nothing from a man so brave and gifted and dazzlingly handsome as I hear him to be.”  
  
She giggles softly, and so prettily that he cannot even feign affront that she apparently finds the notion of him as brave, gifted, and dazzlingly handsome so very amusing.  
  
Or perhaps it is the way she wriggles beneath him as she reaches beneath her skirts and tosses aside something delicate and frothy with lace that he immediately decides she wore for his benefit, that makes offense impossible.   
  
He kisses her again, and moves down her body, shoving her skirts up to her waist and hooking her legs over his shoulders. At the first flick of his tongue against the slick bud at the top of her sex, she gives a muffled squeak. His eyes dart up to hers, and he grins against the light dusting of curls over her mound at how tightly she has her hand clamped over her mouth.   
  
In all honesty, he would love to pull her hand away, let her shout her pleasure, but he would love far more to retain the body part that will prove the most useful when their wedding night arrives, and does not like his chances of it should her father or uncle happen to hear her and come running.  
  
It may come to that anyway, he thinks with some concern, for as he continues to lick at her, tracing gently along her slit and dipping inside, more and more little sounds escape around her hand.  
  
When he feels her thighs begin to tense and tremble in his grip, he moves up her body, takes her the rest of the way with his hand, fingers buried inside her, thumb circling the slickened nub, so that he can watch her face and capture her cry of surprise and pleasure with a kiss.  
  
She is trembling against him, and he moves to pull her into his arms, for as innocent as she is, he imagines that she will need to be held and petted and reassured for some time before he can get her pretty little mouth anywhere near his— _oh_.  
  
Well, then.  
  
His shy, blushing maiden is kneeling over him, pulling at his laces.  
  
“Lift up,” she orders with a hint of impatience when she moves to pull his breeches down and he only stares up at her, shocked.  
  
He hurries to obey, and as his intended's hot, wet little mouth slides down around him, he thinks hazily that their marriage will be a happy one.


End file.
